I can smell the breath of fire around me but I can't see a thing.
It's as if the shadows have stolen my sight and the demons that reside in the darkness have stolen my will to go on.
I've lost the strength to move.
Frozen in the fire storm.
Every ounce of life slithers away from my soul, ashamed of what I have caused; of what I have done.
I leave my empty shell, ready to depart to the depths of Hell- a sanctuary to my eyes.
Anything would be better than this.
YOU ARE READING
The Process of
PoetryThis whole book is a poem made up of smaller poems. It's a story of someone that is struggling through life. It's up to you to decipher your own story through this. #7 in haiku July 18, 2018 #1 in enlightenment July 18, 2018 -EasonV (Free verse and...
